


Better Than A Gold Mine

by randi2204, Todesengel



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 2K Round-up Challenge, Caper Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And this is how Chris ends up dangling out of a second story window, both utterly bemused as to how he ended up stealing the claim deeds to a gold mine from a grizzled Mountain Man, while simultaneously knowing <i>every single step</i> that led up to this situation.</p><p>(Or: Chris should know better than to get caught up with the Standishes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than A Gold Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeke Black (istia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/istia/gifts).



Chris almost walks right back out of the saloon when he sees Maude and Ezra sittin' at the poker table, and seemin' to be getting along like nobody's business. Can't be good when the two of them are being pals-y, specially since they normally get along like a pair of strange cats – all raised hackles and hissing and spitting. Still, it's been 'bout six months since Maude's been in town, and Ezra said her letters were down right cordial lately; and Ezra ain't the man he was back when they first met, so Chris reckons he can maybe trust Ezra's judgment here. 'Sides, what harm can there be in coming in for a drink? Ain't like he has to go and talk to 'em.

And then they go and look at him, both of 'em wearing the same damn expression and eying him like he was a mustang they were looking to break. It's only 'cause he can see Vin slouched up against the bar and smirking at him that he don't hightail it right out of town as fast as he can. All the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up like there's lightning in the air, and he's really debatin' whether or not having Vin smirk at him is worth whatever the Standishes are planning. 

"Vin," he says when he gets close enough that the two of them can speak quiet like. "You know what this is about?"

"Nope." Vin sips his beer slowly and his grin widens. "Reckon it'll be a hell of a show though."

Chris grimaces and stares at Maude and Ezra. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."

And apparently he’s waited too long, because he can _feel_ Ezra approaching. Ezra slides his glass across the bar to Inez as he steps up on Chris’s other side, close enough so their arms brush. Chris shivers a little at the touch, looks down at his whiskey so as not to see Vin’s smirk.

“Mister Larabee,” Ezra drawls as he lifts his glass again. Whenever Maude’s in town, Chris has noticed that Ezra’s accent deepens, slows his words down until they’re honey slow, and he has to shoot his whole glass to distract himself from that thought.

“Ezra,” he manages somehow and nods for Inez to give him a refill. “Enjoyin’ your visit?”

“Indeed. In fact, Mother and I would be pleased if you joined us for a drink.”

Vin makes a sound like a snort next to him and Chris shoots him a hard look, promising that if Vin knows what’s going on here, he’s going to pay for it later.

But Chris doesn’t have any excuses not to join them, even if that look he got comin’ in made him wary as all hell. “All right,” he agrees, and picks up his drink.

"Well," Maude says as he sits down. "So this is your young man." 

Chris damn near chokes on his drink and he's too busy trying to breathe air and not whiskey to worry about how or why Maude knows he and Ezra are…havin' relations. Or something near as that, anyway. He ain't ever asked Ezra 'bout this thing between them, since he reckons Ezra's the sort to bolt at the slightest hint that Chris was even thinkin' 'bout tying him down. 

"Now Mother, we talked about this," Ezra says, a shade of disapproval in his voice as he rubs Chris's back. 

"Honey lamb, we may have talked but as I recall we didn't come to any sort of agreement." Maude frowns at him and then makes a motion with her hands that Chris can't decipher. "Well, go on Mister Larabee."

"Uh," Chris says, eyes still full of tears from breathing his whiskey down the wrong pipe. "What?"

"Show me what it is that has made my darling boy so enamored of you. It surely can't be your ability to drink." Maude sniffs primly and turns slightly until she's once more facing Ezra head on. "Honestly, Ezra. What could you have been thinking, taking up with this man? Why, I declare that he can't even pull off a sloe gin turn, let alone run a scam like the one we pulled in Missoula."

"Mother, Chris has other fine qualities."

"Mmm hmm," Maude says. She sighs and adds, "I still don't understand why you broke things off with Jean-Pierre. He was such a _nice_ boy."

"He defrauded the US Treasury," Ezra says, a bit snappishly. 

"Exactly! Now there was a man who knew how to con!"

“You’ll also notice you have to refer to him in the past tense,” Ezra goes on in the same tone. “As he was _hanged_ for that particular…”

“Never mind that,” Maude interrupts breezily. “I’m much more interested in what Mister Larabee brings to the table.”

Right now, he wishes he’d brought another glass of whiskey. And possibly the bottle as well. “What I what?”

She frowns in a way that he’s probably supposed to call _delicate_ but isn’t. “Oh, Ezra. I thought you had explained this to him.”

Chris turns to look at Ezra, sees him duck his head a little and wet his lips. “Now, Mother, you know I haven’t had the time for that…”

She sniffs again. “I do believe that meant to be what occurred this afternoon after our luncheon.” Her eyebrows lift slightly as if demanding an explanation.

Ezra coughs, his cheeks stained a bit red. Chris quickly looks away again, because what went on this afternoon doesn’t have any place in the saloon, in the company of Ezra’s _mother_ , for God’s sake.

He thinks he hears Maude mutter, “ _Men_ ,” but he can’t be sure, because he’s just discovered there’s still some whiskey left in his glass, and he damn well isn’t going to waste it.

Ezra looks at him and sighs, then signals for Inez to bring them all another round. "Well," he says while they wait, "it turns out that that Mother requires our assistance in the acquisition of a gold mine."

"It was my damn mine to begin with," Maude says, with more heat than Chris has ever heard from her before. "Or ought to have been. But then that old fool had to fall off the damn cliff without changing his will and now what should have been my little nest egg is in the hands of his rotten brother and that awful woman he's shacked up with." She sniffs again. "A gold digger if I ever saw one."

Chris sees Ezra smirk out of the corner of his eye and kicks him under the table. He ain't about to get involved in one of their fights. Hell, he don't want to get involved in any of this at all, 'cept there's Ezra and Chris knows he don't always think too clear about Ezra. 

"You want me to put in a good word with the Judge?" Chris hazards. 

Maude laughs at him and pats his hand fondly. "Oh you precious, precious man. Of course not. I want you to steal the land claim for me."

Chris gapes at her then at Ezra, who's looking right serious about the whole damned thing. He risks a glance over his shoulder and feels his heart sink even farther when he sees that Vin's been joined by Buck and the two of them are wearing the biggest shit-eating grins he's ever seen on man or beast. 

"Uh," he says again, not rightly sure how he's supposed to respond. "Maude, I don't think—"

Maude rolls her eyes and says, "Honestly, Ezra. Is this really what your standards have come to?"

"Give him time, Mother," Ezra says. "He has surprising depths." 

Surprising depths? What in all hell is that supposed to mean?

“Well, time is something we don’t have much of,” Maude retorts sharply. “I know I told you that Mister Creed’s brother is planning to put the claim into the bank for safe keeping, and once it’s there, of course, there’s no way of getting to it short of a bank robbery… which, while it might be an excellent exercise for the student,” and here she pins Ezra with a look that makes Chris squirm slightly in his seat and it ain’t even directed at him, damnit, “is really more than I can condone.” She folds her hands on the table and smiles at them.

Chris is finding it hard to believe that there’s much Maude don’t condone. “How do I know that this… Creed? intended for you to have this mine?”

But apparently that ain’t the right question to ask, because Maude stiffens and gives him a cool look.

“You’ll recall that I did warn you about this,” Ezra says. The hand that had been patting his back while he choked resumes stroking, as if rewarding him for the question.

Inez slips up to the table and refills his glass. Before she can return to the bar, he gets her to refill it again. He knows he shouldn’t be drinking this much – or anything, really – around the Standishes, but somehow, he just can’t help himself.

"I still don't see why I have to be here at all," Chris says. "And I don't see why you can't just tell Judge Travis the truth."

"Your judge is all together too quick to wrong a woman," Maude says, with an edge to her voice that makes Chris squirm. "Obtaining those deeds before they can go into that safe is by far a simpler and more expedient solution."

"I agree," Ezra says, "and yet I must say Chris does raise a valid point. Why do we need him on this job?"

"Why because it's a three man con, of course," Maude says matter-of-factly. "And since dear Jean-Paul—"

"It was _Jean-Pierre_ , Mother," Ezra snaps.

"Yes, of course. Since dear Jean-Pierre is now unfortunately no longer with us, his role must perforce fall to you, and your latest paramour shall have to take up the slack."

"Mother, this isn't New Orleans. The folks in these parts are not nearly so enlightened about sex as you are perhaps used to."

"Darling boy, I'm not saying you need to throw him down on the bed and have intercourse with him! Now, do you still know how to lace up a corset or has being in this backwater town ruined all of your skills?"

“Oh, I think Ezra knows how to lace up a corset just fine,” Chris says, smirking at Ezra until the hand stops moving on his back. For a moment, he’s grateful, because it was damn distracting, then he realizes that Ezra is frowning at him, and that he may have spilled something he shouldn’t have.

Oh, hell. It’s too damn easy to get spun about with these two. Which, he recalls, is why up until now, he’d successfully avoided being around whenever they were together.

“No, Mother,” Ezra says with a tight little grin that Chris wishes he didn’t see, because it doesn’t bode well for him at all, “I haven’t forgotten that particular skill.”

Chris considers that for a moment, then hopes that Vin and Buck are takin’ notes on what to tease Ezra about later. Maybe he’ll even get an honest – well, at least a _halfway_ honest – answer if he asks about it.

“Well, good,” she says, kind of doubtfully. Then she stands, which means so does Ezra, and Chris lurches to his feet as well. “Good night, Mister Larabee.” Ezra offers her his arm and escorts her to the door, leaving Chris to stare after them.

He takes his glass back to the bar, and glares his best glare at both Vin and Buck. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Who, us?” Buck grins at him. “Why, pard, we won’t say nothin’, will we, Junior?”

"Reckon what a man and another man get up to with that second man's Ma ain't none of our business," Vin says, grinning to beat the band. "Ain't that right, Buck?"

"Damn straight," Buck says. "Now, what that man might say to two sympathetic ears with a whole lot of Nettie's gin…well, that probably ain't the second man's business either. Or his mother's."

Chris is damn tempted for a moment, and he blames that temptation entirely on the fact that he don't know up from down at the moment. Ezra's got him all spun 'round. 'Course Ezra gets him all spun up most of the time anyway, but right now he ain't sure if he's supposed to be coming or going with Maude's plan. On the one hand, it don't _sound_ that bad. On the other hand, it's the Standishes. 

"I'm going home," Chris says at last, and he signals for Inez to just give him the damn bottle already. He stalks out of the saloon in a real good funk, and it takes him a few steps before he realizes that Ezra's fallen in step with him. 

"Well, that could have gone better," Ezra says. 

"Hell, I ain't even sure where we went!"

Ezra sighs and takes the bottle from Chris. He drinks from it – a long, steady pull that gives Chris plenty of time to admire the lines of Ezra's throat – and then wipes his mouth fastidiously with his handkerchief. "Mother," he says, "is determined to see if you are fit to become part of the family."

"Well now who the hell gave her that idea?"

"I am not sure, but when I find out, whoever it was will suffer a truly horrific fate." 

"Damn right they will," Chris mutters, then casts a sidelong glance at Ezra and bumps him with his shoulder. "So there really ain't a gold mine?"

Ezra stares at him with raised eyebrows. "We are Standishes, sir," he says, but there is a slight twinkle in his eyes. "We never joke about gold mines."

Chris can’t help but sigh, and takes the bottle back. “I was afraid of that.”

He can feel Ezra’s eyes on him as he takes a good long swallow his own self. When he lowers it again, he can see _that_ look in Ezra’s eye again, the same one that had derailed whatever discussion Maude thought they were meant to have that afternoon. He grins, easy now, ‘cause this is familiar, this is _Ezra_ …

They’re on the street, even though it’s late and the watch-fires have nearly burnt out. “Reckon we could share this bottle in private?” he asks, pitching his voice low, because he’s not the only one who can be spun about.

Ezra licks his lips and glances up the street and down. There’s nobody in sight.

Then he looks up at Chris through his lashes, and Chris wants nothing more than to push him up against the nearest wall…

“I’m afraid I must find a corset,” Ezra says, his accent thick again.

The whiskey swilling in his belly and brain obligingly adds the image of Ezra in corset and dress to the pushing-him-against-the-wall thought and Chris sucks in a breath. Well now.

“Maybe you can do that later,” he says in that voice he knows Ezra can’t resist.

Ezra dimples up at him. “Maybe I can.”

Chris lets the back of his fingers brush against those of Ezra's hand. He's got whiskey and Ezra twining in his blood right now, and he can feel a heat growing inside of him that ain't been at all alleviated by their little interlude in Ezra's rooms earlier today. He ain't felt like this since he was a kid barely older than JD – ain't been this turned on and head over heels about someone since Sarah, and right now all he wants to do is back Ezra up against that alley wall and kiss him good and proper; kiss each dimple, each freckle; kiss that mouth that lies so pretty. 

"Well now," he says, low and rough and wanting, "I reckon my place'd probably be best."

"Is that so, Mister Larabee." Ezra licks his lips, slow and deliberate like – bastard knows just what that does to him and even though there ain't hardly a soul around, there's still Vin and Buck in the bar. And even if what he and Ezra have is more than he'd reckoned Ezra would ever admit to it being, it still ain't something he reckons on sharing. Ezra's his; his hands, his eyes, his mouth, his body – all his.

"Yup. Reckon it's got the distinct advantage that we don't gotta walk past Buck and Vin to get there."

"That is something to consider," Ezra says, serious like. He reaches for the bottle and lets his hand linger there. "But I do have the advantage of a far more commodious mattress."

"Hell, you know we can fit—" Chris begins, and then Maude shouts, "Ezra? Come here, child!"

Ezra groans and drops his hand away from Chris. He shoots a murderous glare at the hotel, then sighs and begins to turn away. Chris grabs his arm tight and growls, "I don't hear nothing and neither do you."

"Chris, if I do not go, things will get…unpleasant," Ezra says. He smiles at Chris, and it's no longer full of promises but regrets. "Besides, Mother is only selectively capable of knocking."

For just a second, Chris finds himself actually weighing that against his need for Ezra _right now_ , and nearly decides it wouldn’t be too high a price to pay. The boarding house is just down the street, and Maude prob’ly don’t know which room is his…

Then Ezra tugs a little, his expression one of faint distress, and Chris knows he ain’t foolin’ about this time. Slowly, he forces his fingers to relax, to let Ezra go even though that’s absolutely the last thing he wants to do at this moment. “All right,” he says, and knows that he don’t quite have control of his voice when he feels a shudder run through Ezra. “Don’t wanna make any trouble for you.” Then he leans close, lets out a breath against Ezra’s ear. “Gonna leave my door unlocked. You get away, you come on over. Can’t promise to save you any whiskey, though.”

It’s Ezra’s turn to sigh. “I would expect you to have _some_ consideration…” But he’s drawing away as he says it, and Chris is pretty sure he’s gonna be spending the rest of the night by himself, no matter what Ezra says.

Then Ezra is hurrying back the way they’d just walked, toward the hotel. Chris watches until the brightness of his coat is swallowed by the darkness, then glances down at the bottle.

He’s not looking forward to another evening with just the company of the bottle. Not when he’d been expecting something more.

Damn Maude anyway, showin’ up out of the blue. He stalks down the street and the only thing that keeps him from stomping up the stairs to his room is the fact that he knows the other folks staying there are prob’ly already asleep and he don’t want to get kicked out for _that_.

He's in a foul mood when he heads on down to the saloon for breakfast, and the sight of Vin and Buck smirking at him over their eggs and bacon just makes it all worse. Ain't the face he wants to see no how, and the fact that Buck's jawing about some damn woman ain't helping him with his hangover none. 

"Now the French," Buck says, gesturing expansively with his coffee cup, "are a right civilized kind of folk. A French woman knows how to do things to a man that'll make his hair stand right on end and give him a whole new reason to respect l'amour." 

"Like you know any Frenchwomen," JD says. 

"Well, now, I known a few in my time. Back in New Orleans, there was a sweet mademoiselle named Giselle that was right fond of me. We used to fuck out on her daddy's riverboat, and she did things that I can't even tell you 'bout, they was so dang filthy!" Buck grins and casts a sidelong glance at Chris. "And then there was her brother, Francois. Well, I say her brother, but they only spoke French so I reckon I didn't hear them right, 'cause I ain't never seen a brother love a sister like he did. 'Course, fact that she screamed louder when he fucked her don't mean nothing, I reckon, since he was a real pissy fella who used to get all kinds of upset when she cooed at me. So I figure ain't nothing that can beat an American cock. What d'you reckon, Chris? Reckon a Frenchman makes a better lover?"

“Don’t have any damn idea,” he mutters. As soon as he’s got another cup of coffee in him, he’s gonna head back to his ranch and try to forget that Maude’s even in town. _Maybe Ezra’ll come out and keep me company,_ he thinks a little wistfully.

As if _that_ was likely to happen.

From outside the saloon, though, he hears Ezra say, “Have a safe journey, Mother.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” Maude replies over the sound of her luggage being loaded onto the stage.

 _Well now._ Chris suddenly feels much, much better about things. _Maybe I don’t gotta be involved in stealin’ the claim to that damned gold mine after all._ He gets up from the table, leaving his coffee cup behind, to peek out over the doors.

Maude’s got her usual 20 cases or more, and from the way Ezra’s patting his face with his handkerchief, looks like she made him carry ‘em all down from her room.

He knows his face is stretched in a grin, but he can’t say he cares much, because she’s leavin’ and that means there won’t be anymore interruptions like last night. His libido is just about ready to rejoice.

Then Maude looks right at him, like she knew he was there all along, and smiles. It’s a knowing smile, and it makes him shiver a little, because even though she’s leavin’, Chris is about positive that she’s left instructions with Ezra. “Good bye, Mister Larabee,” she calls politely.

It’s habit alone that makes him touch the brim of his hat in response. He retreats to his coffee, glares at Buck’s grin and wishes like hell he had something else in his coffee but coffee.

"Mornin'," he says when Ezra walks in and orders a cup of coffee and a plate of huevos rancheros. 

"Gentlemen." Ezra nods at the four of them, then sits down. He studies the beds of his fingernails, and Chris knows that his nonchalance is all just an act. Ain't no way he's the only one feelin' nervous and ornery about whatever Buck and Vin have got to say 'bout their conversation with Maude last night. 

"Maude sure don't stay in one place long, does she?" JD says. He looks at the retreating stagecoach and sighs. "Too bad she's gone. She was gonna tell my fortune again!"

"Sadly, I imagine we shall see her back soon enough," Ezra mutters. "I have only managed a small reprieve for the moment." 

"A reprieve?" Chris says, not liking where this conversation is heading. "You mean she's comin' back?"

"Did you not listen to a word I said, Chris? There's a gold mine at stake." 

"That what you all was discussing last night?" Buck laughs and grins at Chris. "Shoot. Looks like I owe you a dollar, Vin."

"You bettin' on my personal life, Buck?" Chris growls out. 

"'Course not!" Buck protests, then grins his smartass grin. "We was bettin' on Ezra's." 

Of course, that ain’t any better in Chris’s eyes, and combined with that smart remark about Frenchmen bein’ better lovers, Chris is just _achin’_ to plow his fist into Buck’s face. He reins himself in, ignores Buck – though that takes some doin’ – and tosses back the rest of his coffee, hardly even caring that he nearly scalds his tongue. _Reckon it ain’t gonna see much use the next few days anyway._ “So how long a reprieve are we talkin’?” he asks, and even to his own ears, he sounds… not as angry as he thought he would, but kinda dejected.

Ezra leans across and pats his shoulder. “Not as long as I’d like, sadly – merely a few days while Mother puts… things into motion elsewhere.”

Considerin’ the _things_ she’s put into motion – and taken out of motion – here, this isn’t reassuring at all. Chris covers his eyes with one hand. “Do I want to know?”

“No, I rather suspect you don’t.” Ezra smiles up at Inez as she sets his breakfast down before him.

“So, pard, what’s this about a gold mine?” Buck leans forward, as does Vin, both of ‘em grinnin’ to beat hell. Chris is damn well certain he’s gonna kill one or the other of them before the day is out.

"It appears Mother has inherited one," Ezra says. "Or nearly. She has misplaced the claim deeds into the grasping hands of the ex-Creed's younger brother."

"Well now that's a right shame," Buck says, oozing false sympathy. "And of course being the dutiful son, it's your duty to get 'em back."

"Precisely." Ezra takes a sip of coffee and casts Chris a nigh unreadable glance from underneath his eyelashes. He's in his element here – competent and calculating and playing the crowd for all they're worth, and though Chris don't like to reward such behavior on a general basis he can't help but feel himself grow hard at watching Ezra do his thing. 

_'Course, that could just be from last night_ , he thinks to himself. 

"Well, ain't that sweet," Buck says. He grins at Vin and says, "Ezra's such a good son, ain't he?"

"Somethin' like that," Vin replies. He's watching Ezra the same way Chris has seen him watch a rattlesnake – which Chris would find admirable if it weren't for the fact that it's clear Vin's just waiting to see which way to jump 'fore grabbing hold of the snake's tail. 

"Well, Mother is getting on in years, and has been discussing settling down. Her rheumatism does hurt her something awful when it's cold out. And what kind of son would I be to let her suffer so in her declining years?"

"A damn smart one," Chris mutters to himself, then grimaces as Ezra kicks him underneath the table. 

“Be that as it may,” Ezra says, giving Chris a look that ain’t quite so unreadable this time, “she _is_ my mother, I am her only son, so of course it has fallen to me – and perforce to Mister Larabee – to retrieve those… temporarily misplaced deeds so she may live her golden years in comfort and security.” He digs into his eggs, signaling that he’s done with the conversation for now.

Somewhat belatedly, it occurs to Chris that he may have just talked himself out of whatever good graces Ezra might have, and both he and his cock wilt a little. Things ain’t lookin’ good.

Buck leans back, stroking his mustache in that way he does when he wants to appear thoughtful and wise. “Sounds like it’s gonna be right complicated, if Maude’s gone to do some more work somewhere else…”

Chris groans; he knows that leading tone, has heard it time and again, and somehow, even though he knows it’s in his best interest not to answer it, he always does. “Buck,” he says with that tone of warning that Buck is always able to ignore, “stop fishin’. I don’t have the first damn clue about what Maude’s got planned, and I’m not sure I’m gonna help anyway.”

Ezra raises surprised eyes from his breakfast, mouth full, and Chris realizes what just came out of his mouth. He groans and covers his face again. Yeah, he’s right out of Ezra’s good graces now.

For a moment Chris contemplates explain' himself to Ezra. It ain't like he's opposed to helping Ezra at all, it's just that he ain't sure he should be gettin' involved in whatever it is Maude's got planned. He's seen her plans. They ain't good plans. At least, they ain't good if you're what passes for law in these parts. 

He's already almost broken into the bank's safe once. He reckons if he does it again, folks'll talk. 

"Well," Ezra says. "I suppose I shall just have to fall back on plan B." His eyes are cold and calculating, and Chris winces. Ezra's got his back up now, and Chris reckons that whatever chance he might have had of talkin' Ezra out of this madness and into some other kind of madness – the madness of the bedroom, fer example, which is a right nice kind of madness far as Chris is concerned – has just gone out the window. 

"Plan…B?" he asks, and he'll swear to his dying day that his voice didn't quaver at all, no matter what Buck might say later. 

Ezra raises an eyebrow and turns in his seat until he's facing Vin. "Mister Tanner," he says. "How would you like to earn ten dollars?"

“Ten dollars?” Vin whistles. “What’d I have to do for that?”

“Ezra, wait…” Maude may not have outlined her plan to the letter, but still, Chris has got a pretty good inkling what Vin would have to do for that, and damn it, that’s not what he wanted at all.

“You’ll simply have to play the role that Mister Larabee has decided is not to his taste, a performance of but a few moments in front of myself and Mister Creed.” Ezra shoots a hot look at Chris. “I do hope you’ll be able to muster the appropriate emotion… and perhaps not drink so much as to forget the lines you must say.”

“Ezra, I didn’t…”

Vin looks back and forth between him and Ezra, smirks. “Reckon I can do that. Just gotta tell me what to say and I can say it. Did a pretty good job playin’ a jealous husband to get ol’ Buck outta Ettie’s room.”

“Hey, now…” Buck frowns at Vin.

“Excellent! Then you are well-versed in the role you must play.”

“Ezra…”

Vin’s smirk grows wider. “That why you needed Chris to go along? Do I get to kiss you, too?”

Another angry look from Ezra, and all right, Chris is startin’ to get a little nervous here. “I suppose that _might_ be arranged.”

“W-what?” Chris don’t care that he sounds shocked, or that Ezra’s prob’ly chivvyin’ him into a corner he don’t want to be in. Ezra kissin’ Vin is just out of the question. “Forget it! I’ll do it.”

"I'm sorry, Mister Larabee, but you've missed your turn," Ezra says coldly. "Mister Tanner and I have entered into a contract, now, and I am so loath to break a valid contract."

"Contract?" Chris splutters. "Ezra, you ain't seriously gonna let him –"

"Inez," Ezra says over his shoulder, interrupting Chris, "I believe I will finish my breakfast in my room."

"Ezra!" Chris says again. He stands up so fast he knocks his knee against the table and sets all the plates to rattling. "Ezra, you –"

But Ezra is already up the stairs, plate in hand and cup of coffee in the other, looking for all the world like he don't even hear Chris bellowing at him in a very manly way. Chris stares at Ezra's back, then sits back down and glares at Vin. 

"You ain't kissin' him," he growls out. "Let's just get that clear from the start."

"Well, I ain't sure I'm the one you should be sayin' that to," Vin says. He slouches down further and tips his chair back on its rear legs, then pushes the brim of his hat up so he can look at Chris. "'Course, I could be persuaded to back out. If the price is right."

"How 'bout I agree not to kill you today. That a good enough price?"

Vin pretends to consider the offer then looks over at JD, who's been grinnin' like a damn fool the entire time. "What do you reckon, kid? Think that's worth givin' up ten dollars and a kiss from Ezra?"

"Nah," JD says. "Chris'll never shoot you."

"That's what I reckon," Vin says, and smirks at Chris. 

"Ain't never said I'd _shoot_ you dead," Chris says. "Lots of ways a man can die out here."

"Chris, you know you ain't gonna kill me, and I'll go toe-to-toe with you however long you like," Vin says. "Ten dollars'll buy a man a damn sight more than a whole bunch of hot air."

Chris sighs and pulls his wallet out from the inside of his coat and counts the bills inside. "I got fifteen dollars on me. That enough?"

Vin holds out his hand and waits for Chris to count the money into it before saying, "Well, what do you know. I just remembered I got some pressing business over in Tularosa. I guess Ezra'll just have to find himself another leading man."

"Well how 'bout that," Chris says sourly. "Guess I should go break the news to Ezra."

"Reckon you should," Vin says, and Chris don't feel at all ashamed of himself for giving Vin's chair a tiny little push and sending him crashing to the ground.

Buck’s roar of laughter and Vin’s outraged squawks follow him all the way up the stairs, and if he’s takin’ them two at a time, well, it ain’t anyone’s business but his own.

Outside Ezra’s door, he pauses a second, listening. He’s pretty sure that Ezra really is angry, but there’s been times where that’s turned around so fast that the only explanation Chris can come up with is that he weren’t _really_ angry at all. Anyway, only makes sense he should get a little advance information.

But he can’t hear nothin’ through the door. He sighs. _Brought this on myself,_ he thinks. _Better make it right_. He puts his hand on the knob.

It won’t turn.

He stares down at it in shock. Ezra, knowin’ full well Chris would prob’ly be chasin’ him up here, _**locked the door**._

_Guess he really is mad._

Instead, he knocks. “Ezra? Mind unlockin’ the door?”

“I wish to consume my breakfast and not ruin it with a case of indigestion, Mister Larabee.”

“Aw, hell, Ezra.” If it weren’t for the hangover reminding him it’d be a bad idea, he’d have thumped his head against the door. “My mouth got ahead of my brain. I didn’t mean it.”

Silence. For a man who talked as much as Ezra did, he sure knew how to fight without sayin’ a word.

Well, best to get the rest of the information out there. “Vin suddenly recalled that he’s got business elsewhere, and can’t help you out. Guess you’re back to Plan A.”

Chris waits as patiently as he can for Ezra to reply. The fact that Ezra's saying nothing – not even cussing him or Vin out – is troublesome, and Chris is contemplating just how hard it would be to break down Ezra's door – and what additional trouble that would cause him – when it finally opens. 

The look Ezra's giving him makes him feel like he's about a foot high and he stops himself from saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

"I see," Ezra says, slow and deliberate. "I take it Vin found a better offer?"

"Charged me fifteen goddamn dollars," Chris says, and while he's still sore that he ain't got no more money to his name, he's pretty damn glad to see Ezra's small smile. "Probably would've held out for more if I had more on me."

"Mister Tanner is a remarkably astute businessman for one who so clearly eschews the comforts of civilization," Ezra says, tapping one finger against his lips in a contemplative fashion. Chris can feel his hackles rising at the appreciative way Ezra says that. 

"There's more to life than money, Ezra," he growls out. 

Ezra looks at him, and Chris is hard again. He's dizzy from the sudden rush of blood leaving his brain – or maybe it's just from the way Ezra looks at him, like he's something better than a thousand dollars and a gold mine put together. Chris licks his lips and swallows, then takes a step in to Ezra's space, into Ezra's room. 

"Damn lot more," he says, and he reaches out a hand to Ezra's face, wanting nothing more than to have that kiss that's been denied to him. 

"Yes," Ezra says, slow and deep. Chris shivers and bends his head down. He can feel the tension in Ezra's body, the want that mirrors his own.

"Yes," Ezra says again, voice more in control, and he turns away before Chris can capture his lips. "There's also land."

“Damn it, Ezra!” This keeps goin’ on, he’s pretty sure somethin’s gonna explode. It might be his temper, it might be somethin’ else, but either way, it ain’t gonna be pleasant.

“Of course, what better way to combine money and land than in a gold mine? Why, then, one could have money and the other things in life…”

“Ezra…” He’s about ready to throttle the man, and if that ain’t directly contrary to all his other wants, he don’t know what is.

But his growl seems to have had its usual effect on him; Ezra shivers against him and turns back to face him again, licking his lips. Quick as a snake striking, Chris gets that damn elusive kiss, then crowds Ezra further back into his room, kicking the door shut.

Then it’s all hands and heat, and the slide of that wicked, wicked tongue against his, and _damn_ , how in the hell did he manage to go so long without this kiss?

He don’t know – or much care – what he’s got Ezra pressed up against, just that it’s there, and without breaking the kiss, he starts trying to push Ezra’s coat from his shoulders. Ezra’s working at the buttons of his shirt, never mind that he’s still got his own coat on.

They’ve just stopped kissing to suck in some air when there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, Ezra?” Buck calls from the other side of the door. He sounds like he’s about one second away from laughing his fool head off. “There’s a package here addressed to Maude – you wanna keep it for her?”

"You open that door," Chris says, growling the words into Ezra's ear, "and I ain't gonna be held responsible for the consequences." 

"But it could be—" Ezra begins, and Chris snarls something wordless and primal and latches back on to Ezra's mouth. He fists one hand in Ezra's hair – soft this morning, as he seems to have forgone his usual pomade – and slides the other one down Ezra's back, along the soft velvet of his jacket. Ezra makes a noise – of protest at the treatment of his clothing, Chris reckons – but he's got his own hands on Chris now, one gripping the small strap at the back of his pants, the other working at the buttons on the front. Chris steps forward, crowds Ezra further back into the room until he can feel the rough scratch of the wallpaper on the back of his hand. 

"Chris? Ezra?" Buck knocks again, louder this time. "You two busy in there?"

"Go. Away," Chris growls, torn between killing Buck and keeping Ezra right where he is and kissing that smug smile off of his mouth – like the bastard ain't just as hard and wanting as Chris is. He can feel Ezra's cock through all the layers of their combined clothing, and it's truly the one honest thing about Ezra – no matter how cool and collected he may look right now he wants this at least as much as Chris does. 

"You sure? It's an awful big package." Chris can hear the sound of rustling paper and he knows with a sinking certainty that he is not going to get to fuck anything but his hand today, because no matter what Buck's unwrapping right now, it's going to pull Ezra right out of his grasp. That's just the way his luck has been running lately, and he's damn sick of it. 

"Don't," he tells Ezra, as convincingly as he can. "It ain't nothing."

"Whooee! That's a mighty pretty dress," Buck says.

The words aren’t hardly out of Buck’s mouth when Chris’s brain dredges up a whiskey-soaked image from just before he finally fell asleep the night before, of Ezra in a dress – not the royal purple and black that he’d so detested, but something lighter, with green… 

Chris figures his brain don’t know what’s good for him, thinkin’ of things like that, because if he ever shared that particular thought with Ezra, he knows he wouldn’t have to worry about Buck interrupting them ever again.

He kisses Ezra again, pressing him harder against the wall – because even though it’s bad for him, that image still gets him all het up – and gets his hands underneath Ezra’s vest, closest he’s gotten to skin in more time than he’d like to remember.

Ezra tugs sharply on the buckle and strap at the back of his pants, and he’s only got a couple of the buttons in front undone, so the fabric binds in a way that’s kinda painful. Chris jerks his mouth away from Ezra’s. “What the hell!”

“Chris? You all right, pard?” Buck’s losing that fight against laughing. “You know you ain’t doin’ it right if it hurts, right?”

Ezra is wriggling against him, trying to worm out from between him and the wall, but all that wriggling ain’t making Chris any more inclined to let him go. “Chris,” he whispers, “you must let me go…”

Chris leans into him until Ezra makes an undignified grunt. “Why’d I wanna do that?”

“Because if I know Mother, there’s more in that package than just the dress.”

The slightly panicked tone of voice makes Chris pull away a little and he eyes Ezra suspiciously.

“Well, now,” Buck says in surprise, “what’s this?”

"Ezra," Chris says, not sure how much more of the combined Standishes he can take, "what the hell has Maude sent you?"

"Well," Ezra hedges, still struggling to free himself from Chris's embrace, though Chris knows the struggle is mostly 'cause he don't want to get his clothes all mussed, "knowing Mother it's probably something horribly embarrassing."

"Vin," Buck shouts down, "take a look at this thing! You ever seen so many buckles in one place?"

"Oh lord," Ezra says, dropping his head to rest against Chris's shoulder. "Mother, what have you done?"

Chris opens his mouth, though he ain't sure what, exactly, he's going to ask – he ain't no stranger to sex, but he'll be damned if he can think of a single thing a woman'd wear that'd need a whole messload of buckles on it – then closes it and shakes his head. There's a part of him that's really regrettin' his libido, right now.

'Course the bit of him that's still pressed up tight against Ezra is pretty damn happy.

He’s got two choices here – he could let Ezra go and hope that he won’t be too out of sorts with whatever it is that Maude has sent and they can pick up right where they left off, or he could keep Ezra pinned until Buck gets tired of teasing them through the door and lets them…

Oh, hell. Like _that’s_ ever going to happen.

“You get whatever Maude’s sent,” he says low in Ezra’s ear. “You get rid of Buck, even if you have to push him down the goddamn stairs. Then you get your ass right back here.”

Ezra gives him a deeply unhappy look at that. “I suspect that neither of us will be in a mood to enjoy ourselves at that point.”

With a sigh, Chris silently agrees, but pushes himself away anyway. Jesus Christ, this feels like someone’s tryin’ to drive him ‘round the bend, and he has to wonder if all this… frustration is bad, or could lead to permanent damage. _Hell, it’s gonna lead to Buck gettin’ killed in a minute…_

Buck’s smirkin’ like the devil when Ezra opens the door. “There you are, pard! Took so long, I thought ol’ Chris might’ve done somethin’ to you.” He waggles his eyebrows and doesn’t even notice the fulminating glare Chris throws his way. “Maude’s got real good taste – that’s a damn pretty dress, though it does look a mite big for her…”

“Thank you, Mister Wilmington,” Ezra says, snatching the package out of Buck’s hands. “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah, that thing with the buckles…”

Rather than answer, Ezra slams the door in his face and leans against it for good measure.

Chris reckons that Ezra was right, because Ezra sure don’t look in the mood anymore. He looks down at his half-opened pants and exhales again. Buttonin’ ‘em up again ain’t gonna be pleasant.

"Okay," Chris sighs, already anticipating the worst. "What is it?"

Ezra finishes unwrapping the dress – it's a deep red, not the green Chris had been imagining – and holds up a device that's all buckles and leather and straps. He turns it this way and that, all the metal jangling a happy discordant tune, then purses his lips. "It appears," he says slowly, "to be a thigh holster."

"A what now?" Chris says. 

"A holster. For one's thigh." Ezra's frowning now, and Chris reckons he must be real damn hard up for some relations time if he's findin' it nigh impossible to resist the urge to lick the little wrinkle that forms between Ezra's brows. 

"A holster," Chris says, instead. He takes the device from Ezra and holds it out in both hands. It sure don't look like no holster he's ever seen before. "You supposed to strap a gun to this thing?"

"Well, what else would one strap to one's thigh?" Ezra says, in an exasperated tone of voice. He's got the dress all laid out on the bed, now, and Chris reckons Buck was right in his assessment. It's a damn fine piece of frippery, much nicer than the one they put Ezra in the last time 'round, and it shines with the glow that Chris has learned means that it's made out of silk.

"I dunno," Chris says. "I ain't never dressed as a woman before."

"Just because I've pulled this ruse once before does not make me an expert in the art of transforming into a woman," Ezra snaps at him. "Besides, I always played the jealous lover." 

"Just how many times you done this, Ezra?" Chris asks, before he can stop himself. 

The silence that settles reminds him that speaking before thinking is what got Vin fifteen dollars richer this morning, and Ezra is paying too much attention to straightening the dress to be doing anything other than thinking up a story.

Well, if that ain’t like a cold splash of water.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and does up his pants.

“If you are referring to what Mother has planned,” Ezra says quietly, “twice, both with Jean-Pierre. If you are referring to…” He swallows and looks up, and Chris can’t help but notice that his eyes are very wide. He’s seen it enough when Ezra’s running a con to know that it probably ain’t real, but he’s never wanted it to be real as much as he does this time. “If you are referring to how matters stand between us… in that regard as well, there has only been Jean-Pierre.”

There’s a very deep-seated part of Chris that wants nothin’ more than to push Ezra down on the bed, red silk dress be damned, and have relations with him until he forgets this Jean-Pierre ever existed.

And apparently he ain’t keepin’ that feeling under wraps very well, because Ezra gives him that half-grin that always makes him want to kiss him senseless, and asks, “Why, Chris. Is that jealousy?”

“What the hell else could it be?” he growls. “Ain’t I already gone broke keeping Vin away from you?”

Ezra laughs, a noise full of honest mirth, and kisses Chris lightly on the lips. It's a consolation kiss, not a prelude to something more, and even though he's feeling slightly mollified, Chris is still right glad the earlier mood of urgent wanting has been broken. He's feelin' as sullen as a bear with a toothache right now, and that ain't no way to be feelin' when you're makin' love. 

"Reckon I shoulda known you'd find that amusin'," Chris mutters. 

"Well, perhaps you should have also known I would never kiss Mister Tanner, even with the promise of a gold mine. At least, not while I could be kissing you." 

"Well," Chris says. "All right then." 

He contemplates the dress on the bed and reckons it's probably best he not tell Ezra that he reckons they made the bust too big. There's a vast difference between not bein' in the mood for foolin' 'round now, and not bein' in the mood for foolin' 'round ever again, after all. 

"So," he says at last. "How's this whole thing work?"

"Simply put, I shall seduce the younger Creed and you shall burst in as the jealous lover catching us in the act."

"You, uh. You reckon that's the best way to go about it? I mean. What if you ain't his type?" Chris asks. He's damn proud of himself for not mentioning the fact that Ezra was a powerful ugly woman the last time they put him in a dress, and he don't reckon there's much they'll be able to do to change that fact now. He reckons there ain't no way to say that and still count on bein' allowed to kiss Ezra ever again, even if he tells Ezra it's because he's a right handsome man and a handsome man do make a terrible ugly woman.

Ezra frowns, but Chris is relieved to note that it’s a thoughtful frown instead of an angry one. “I must admit I hadn’t considered that,” he says. “Jean-Pierre was not inclined to share his secrets, and always was very… coy about how he enticed his target.”

Chris bites his tongue rather than say anything to that. No sense gettin’ on Ezra’s bad side _again_ by malignin’ his dead… friend. Yeah. He could ignore what Ezra had said and just consider Jean-Pierre Ezra’s friend, and never mind the rest.

With a sigh, Ezra rubs his forehead. “Perhaps I will simply be able to rely on my natural wit and charm,” he says but it sounds kinda doubtful.

And once again, Chris is proud of himself for not blurting out his thought, which was that maybe Creed’s brother was a one-eyed drunk who wouldn’t much care what Ezra looked like. Instead, he says, “Well, ya got those in spades.”

Ezra shoots him a look, like he’s tryin’ to figure out just how badly he’s been insulted and what he’s going to do about it, then lets it go. “Well. I suppose I’ll think of something between now and Friday.”

“Friday?” Friday’s only a couple days away. How in the hell are they gonna work this out in just a few days?

“Yes, Friday,” Ezra replies absently. “I will have to put considerable thought into the matter.”

“Uh…” Now things were really looking grim. In the past, when Ezra has said he needs to put _considerable thought_ into something, that usually has involved Chris being brushed off and not getting his very-necessary _relations_ time. “But… tonight?

Just because he’s out of sorts _now_ don’t mean things won’t improve by the end of the day. And having that to look forward to usually did make things improve.

Ezra glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and Chris is so tangled up now he can’t tell if this is Ezra gettin’ him back for that bit down at the table or if it’s Ezra gettin’ him back for somethin’ here in this room, or if it’s Ezra being stubborn or just being a damn tease.

Suddenly it don’t matter much, because his pants are getting tight again.

He shifts, tryin' to relieve a bit of the pressure. Ezra glances at him, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants, and sighs. "Really, Chris?" he says, sounding very put out. "Now?"

"Uh." Chris knows he's kinda blushin', but damn it, it ain't his fault Ezra can work him up so bad! "Well, we didn't get to finish earlier," he says, then adds, defiantly, "'Sides, I reckon it'll be the last time you'll be free fer…you know…'til Friday."

"We are both grown men," Ezra says. "Surely you can wait two days."

"I been waitin' since last night!" Chris says. "First your ma interrupts us, and then you got all mad this mornin', and then Buck shows up with that damn dress…And now you got that look on your face that means you ain't gonna be interested in nothin' but figurin' out how to get some damn dirty son of a bitch to go after you!" Chris huffs out an angry sigh and sits down on Ezra's bed, wrinkling the dress as he does so. "I swear, you and your ma seem to go outta your way to make my life complicated. Why not just break into the bastard's room and take the deeds while he's out boozin' and whorin' in the saloon?"

Chris reckons he can chalk up the fact that it takes him a good thirty seconds to realize that Ezra's got his contemplative silence goin' to being out of sorts and in need of some relations. 

"What," he says, still cross and painfully aroused. 

"Why, Mister Larabee," Ezra says, grinning down at him like he's just won the big pot at a high stakes poker game, "I do believe you are a genius."

That grin almost makes him forget what he’s just said. “I am?”

“You are indeed,” Ezra purrs.

Oh, the sound of that… it definitely makes him think things he probably shouldn’t be thinkin’, ‘least not right now. Chris reaches up to fist his hands in Ezra’s shirt and pull him closer, and then that mouth is on his again where it belongs, stealin’ his breath, even though he’s sure he’ll hear about mussing Ezra’s clothes later. Right now, though, it’s really hard to care about that. He starts to lie back on the bed, tugging Ezra along to kneel over him, because after last night and this downright hellish morning, things are _finally_ starting to look up.

But then Ezra jerks away _again_ , with a frown that’s kinda undermined by how his lips are all red and swollen and how he’s panting. He keeps Chris from lying back with both hands wrapped in the lapels of his coat. “What do you think you’re doin’?” he demands.

Chris is still holding on to Ezra’s shirt, trying to pull him in the direction he wants him to go while Ezra is resisting, trying to pull _him_ the other way. “I think I’m tryin’ to get you do lay down with me,” Chris growls. “What the hell are you doin’?”

Ezra huffs, and backs away. He gets greater leverage with both feet on the floor again, and hauls Chris upright again. Chris groans.

“I am tryin’ to save this fine piece of apparel from bein’ crushed and… irreparably stained.”

Upright and abandoned again, Chris grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. _Fuckin’ my hand would be more satisfyin’ at this point,_ he thinks angrily. “I thought I was a genius and you wouldn’t haveta wear this… thing.” He pokes at the dress.

Ezra glowers at him disapprovingly. “It’s still silk, and…” He blushes a little. “It’s possible that the dress might yet prove… necessary.”

Chris eyes the dress with something bordering on hatred. He ain't been so frustrated by a piece of women's clothing since that debacle with Sarah's corset on their wedding night. 

_Ain't been so damned horny, neither_ , he thinks to himself, and the thought just makes his foul mood fouler. 

"Well I sure as hell ain't wearin' it," he says aloud. 

"Of course not," Ezra replies, and the exasperation in his tone makes it quite clear that he's regrettin' calling Chris a genius. "It would have to be substantially altered before it would fit you, and I fear we have neither the time nor an understanding tailor to make those changes."

Chris sighs and shakes his head. Sometimes it's damn hard to tell when Ezra's havin' a go at him. _Don't feel in the mood to find out, though,_ he thinks. Stayin' here is just gonna get him more worked up, and that'd just be plain bad for everyone – he knows he can do stupid things when his patience is frayed to the breaking point.

He adjusts his still painfully erect cock and makes for the door. He's got one hand on the knob before Ezra stops him, once more grabbing hold of the little strap on the back of his pants.

"Ezra, I ain't in the mood to plan a burglary with you," he says, but he knows he's lying, because he's heard the rustlin' of silk behind him, and he knows Ezra's just as hard up as he is. 

Ezra tugs him around and grins his wicked, devil's grin. "That wasn't the law I was contemplating breaking," he says.

Chris turns around and is gratified to see that the red silk is now draped over the rocking chair. He pulls Ezra close and this time he comes willin’. “Looks like your bed’s empty again,” he says low, right in Ezra’s ear, just to feel him twitch.

“Not for long,” Ezra replies, and this time he’s the one yanking Chris’s head down.

It’s after noon before he even thinks about leavin’ Ezra’s room, and it’s nearly dinner before he actually does. He knows that he’s wearin’ a satisfied little smirk, and that Vin and Buck are gonna tease him just about without mercy, but right now, he doesn’t much care.

He doesn’t even care that sometime during the second round – well, maybe it was the third – Ezra made him promise to give serious thought to the matter his mother had so ceremoniously dumped on them. Since Ezra had stopped what he was doing, which Chris had been enjoying very loudly, to demand this, he had of course agreed straight away.

Which he’s now regretting, since it means he has to think about Ezra in that rustly silk dress and just how illegal it is to steal deeds that were stolen in the first place, when he knows he’d much rather just be enjoying the vague ache that comes along with damn near complete satiation.

"I still think we should go to the Judge," Chris says as he watches Ezra dress. 

"With what? A sob story with no corroboration?" Ezra says. He shakes his head. "No, our employer is far too honest a man to believe Mother's crocodile tears."

"Well, what about a forgery?" Chris asks, knowing just what a hypocrite he is in sayin' so but not caring much. "Ain't you know someone who can make up a will?"

Ezra stops adjusting his tie and turns around to stare at Chris. He purses his lips, then smiles – a rare, honest smile, small and fleeting. "I do declare. We shall make an outlaw of you yet."

"Ah hell. I ain't suggestin' that _we_ forge it," Chris says, but without any real heat. He's far too sated for heat right now; far too sated for anythin' but watchin' Ezra move about the room. "I'd just as soon we dropped the whole damn thing. Anyway, I reckon if the dead man meant to leave your ma that mine, gettin' someone to draft up a will sayin' so ain't really a crime."

"You would think," Ezra murmurs in a way that saps some of the satiation from Chris's bones. He don't mind Ezra's past, in general – he's accepted Ezra for who he is, law breakin' and all, and it ain't like he hasn't broken more'n a few laws himself – it's just he'd rather not have to hear 'bout it, in case Ezra tells him something where he's gotta take steps. Lawful steps, that is, and he ain't fooled for a minute into thinkin' that Ft. Laramie's the only place where Ezra's got a warrant out for his arrest. 

"Anyway," Chris says, "there ain't no way we can keep the rest of 'em from stickin' their noses into this. Hell, I bet Buck's already tellin' half the town 'bout that damn dress."

"Yes, our dear friends do pose a bit of a problem," Ezra says. He sighs and smoothes down his vest. "I don't suppose you could order them out of town for a few days? Perhaps there's some urgent errand that needs to be run? Or a prisoner to transport?"

"Ezra," Chris says, warningly. 

"It was just an idea, and not even an serious one at that." Ezra smiles at him in a way that Chris knows is false, then adds, "I suppose needs must, then. We shall have to include the others in our plan."

"What plan?" Chris mutters, but he knows a lost cause when he sees one, and he heaves himself out of bed with a sigh. _Well_ , he thinks as he pulls on his pants, _time to get this over with._

“Well, well!” Buck says when he sees them, and he’s wearing the biggest, smuggest grin he’s got. “Look what the cat dragged out!”

The sight kinda makes Chris want to hide, and there weren’t much that scared him anymore.

Vin looks at him steady, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, and that’s the thing that almost makes Chris head back up the stairs, dragging Ezra with him, because clearly Vin ain’t forgotten that tumble, and he knows Vin ain’t had a chance to do anything to Ezra’s room, so it’s probably safe there…

 _And God knows we can keep ourselves entertained,_ he thinks. Somehow, he’s behind Ezra. It’s a very nice view. _Be even better if he weren’t wearin’ that damn tail coat…_

Josiah leans back in his chair, watching them with an amused air. Nathan shakes his head, and JD’s still grinning as wide as he had that morning. He nudges Buck, and Buck nudges him back.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Ezra greets. There are two seats left at the table, and Ezra slides into one. “I trust the evening finds you well.”

“Are you really gonna wear that dress?” JD bursts out, eyes sparkling, and Chris remembers that the kid thought it the height of entertainment that Ezra wore the dress in Wickestown.

Ezra waits a beat before answering and shoots a deadly glare at Buck. “That, son, is still a matter of discussion.”

“You know,” Vin says with a pointed look at Chris, “I think I mighta already cleared that business up over in Tularosa.” He tilts his chair back on two legs.

"You volunteerin' for dress duty?" Chris snaps back as he sits down. 

"Dunno," Vin says, that smart-ass smirk still on his face. "Reckon I could be persuaded to iffin it meant getting a kiss from Ezra."

Chris glowers at him and he's just about to launch into his "you lay one dirty, stinkin', grubby little gun-lovin' hand on my man" speech when Ezra clears his throat and lays a calming hand on Chris's arm. 

"While your offer is most appreciated, Mister Tanner," Ezra says, "I believe Chris and I have settled our prior differences."

"Yeah, I reckon the whole town knows that," JD says, and Chris shifts his glare from Vin to JD, who don't look half as sorry as he should. _Boy's been hangin' round with Buck too damn long,_ Chris thinks sourly. 

"Man, woman – the expression of love is a beautiful thing," Josiah says, ponderously. "And one that should be heralded loudly to the angels." 

Chris sinks lower into his chair and stares stubbornly at the wooden table, willing himself to remember that these men were as near to kin as he had, and he'd be sure to regret killing them. Probably. He feels Ezra shift beside him, and he kicks Ezra's boot with his own, a silent _I told you we should've stayed in bed_ that he knows Ezra hears loud and clear. 

"If we're quite done discussing Mister Larabee and my private business –"

"Ain't private if the whole dang town c'n hear ya," Buck says, barely stifling his shit-eating grin when Ezra's most pointed glare is directed at him.

"As I said. If we're quite done with that topic, perhaps we can move on to more substantive issues?"

"Like what in the Sam Hill you're doing with a dress?" Buck asks.

Ezra taps his lips with one finger, and his face has gone all calculating again. “I don’t suppose you’d believe that it actually _is_ something Mother forgot to pick up before her departure this morning?”

“Not for a minute,” Buck replies, eyes twinkling.

Ezra heaves a mock sigh. “Well, I suppose the truth must out then.”

“Heaven forbid,” Nathan says, but he’s grinning as he says it.

“I’m sure Mister Wilmington has told y’all about the… stunnin’ red dress my mother oh-so-thoughtfully left behind,” Ezra goes on. “As well as the gold mine. The truth is, they are connected.”

“You’re gonna get a gold mine for a dress?” JD asks, face scrunched up like he’s workin’ a difficult arithmetic problem in his head.

“Nothin’ quite so straightforward, I’m afraid…”

“Of course it ain’t,” Nathan interrupts with a snort.

“But leavin’ the dress for now, we still must find a way to get the deed for the mine from the nefarious Mister Creed the younger, so my mother will have wealth squirreled by for her… uh… final years.” Ezra flashes a gold-tinted grin at the rest of them. “That, dear gentlemen, is where you come in.”

“Come again?” Chris can’t help but ask. This is news to him.

“Hush, Chris,” Ezra murmurs, patting his leg under the table. “It’ll work out.”

Chris couldn’t help but think otherwise, seeing the devious looks as come over Buck’s and Vin’s faces.

"You see, gentlemen," Ezra says, "the plan was to have myself seduce the younger Creed and to have Chris burst in upon us in a compromising situation. Chris would then use his most formidable reputation – or the prospect of jail for breaking the sodomy laws – to cow Creed into releasing the deeds to him, at which point we would run him out of town, never to be heard from again. And while this is a most admirable plan in the more civilized parts of the world, I fear it would not play out so well here, where a man is considered to be at the height of good manners if he remembers to use a spittoon."

"That ain't the least of the problems," Chris says, then grunts as Ezra elbows him in the side. 

Buck laughs at that and says, "That's like callin' a hung over bear a little bit tetchy. 'Sides, I reckon by the time you get a man drunk enough to believe Ezra's a girl, he'll be too damn drunk to remember his name, let alone sign anythin' over."

"However," Ezra continues, clearly determined to ignore the others' mirth, "Mister Larabee has suggested a most excellent alternative: we shall simple enter Creed's room and liberate the deeds before he has a chance to file them."

A silence descends at that and while Chris feels a little smug that Ezra ain't gettin' the approval he thinks his harebrained scheme so clearly deserves, he also can't help but feel put out at being tarred by Ezra's brush, even if he did damn well suggest this fool of an idea. 

"Ain't that…illegal?" JD asks at last. 

Chris quickly looks away, and feels rather than sees the dark look Ezra bestows upon him.

“Well,” Ezra hedges, well able to split his attention between answering JD and making sure Chris knows his displeasure, “if you were to look at it a certain way, I suppose there _might_ be a certain amount of… illegality to this plan. However, you must bear in mind that the late and much lamented Mister Creed the Elder intended for my mother to be the owner of his gold mine, and perished before he could update his will.”

“So…” Buck draws out the word.

Ezra sighs. “So… whatever road this plan takes, there is bound to be… larceny of some kind involved. Such a course is, regrettably, common when Mother is involved.”

Vin snorts, tilts back a little further. “Oh, like yer plans are so squeaky clean.”

“Be that as it may,” Ezra continues doggedly, “I would be… indebted to you gentlemen for your… complicity in this matter. Or at least your willingness to look the other way.”

“Indebted, huh?” Buck strokes his mustache. “Indebted for how much?”

"Let us not haggle over the price now," Ezra says, flapping one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Such minor details can be settled later."

"After you've conveniently forgotten 'em, y'mean," Vin says. 

"I am a man of honor," Ezra begins, then stops as the hooting laughter from the others drowns him out. Chris grins evilly at him, and casts his eyes back towards the stairs and the safety of Ezra's room. 

"Bet that bed's lookin' like a mighty fine idea now," he mutters to Ezra. Ezra scowls at him and kicks him hard in the shin. 

"Fine," Ezra says, when the others finally stop laughing. "Name your price, gentlemen. I'm sure Mister Larabee and myself will be more than up to whatever you demand."

A sudden silence descends upon the table, and Chris can feel the hesitant glances directed his way. He smirks at the others, and crosses his arms. Normally he'd be inclined to disavow himself of any of Ezra's more outrageous promises, but the boys deserve it, after the hecklin' they gave him. 

"Nothing?" Ezra says, radiating smugness like it's heat from a bonfire. "Come now, surely there must be _something_ I can offer."

Then Chris sees Vin glance around at the others and jerk his head to the side like a signal. The others shuffle away from Chris and Ezra a little.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Josiah says, “we’re gonna discuss terms.” He waggles his fingers, inviting the two of them to leave.

“By all means,” Ezra says with a semblance of smoothness. Chris knows it ain’t real, though, because Ezra’s eyes are kinda pinched, and his hand is gripping Chris’s arm tight.

They move over to the next table, and watch as the other five huddle together, whispering.

“What do you reckon they’re gonna come up with?”

Ezra sighed quietly. “If I have my guess, something that’ll make me wish I wasn’t my mother’s son.”

Chris ponders that for a moment, sneaks a glance at the stairs and sighs. He’s glad they fooled around all day and no mistake, because the only demands he can think of the boys comin’ up with right now definitely doesn’t involve lazy days of sex for him and Ezra. He leans into Ezra a bit, is reassured by the answering pressure of Ezra’s shoulder.

It’s some time before Nathan beckons them back, and Chris can’t help but be wary of the huge grins they’re all wearin’. “All right,” he asks gruffly. “What is it?”

“There were, of course, a variety of demands,” Josiah replies, “but we were eventually able to reach consensus. Vin’s request was the one that eventually decided us.”

Vin smirks across the table, and Chris’s hackles suddenly rise again. “Vin,” he growls.

“He said it could be arranged,” Vin replies, balanced on his chair and out of Chris’s reach. “I’m thinkin’ it’s… suitable.”

“That’s the payment you want?” Ezra asks, equal parts confusion and relief. “A kiss?”

“Hell, no!” Chris protests.

Then the others erupt into raucous laughter.

Well, all the others 'cept for Vin, who just has this sly look in his eyes like maybe the joke ain't really a joke at all. Chris feels his hackles go up and he's just about to do somethin' damn stupid – like maybe punch Vin right in the middle of his goddamn smirking face – when somethin' 'bout Vin's expression makes him pause. That sly little look ain't directed totally at Ezra, and Chris shifts 'bout uncomfortably in his chair. Ain't like he never thought 'bout Vin in a sexual way, 'course. He's a man, and Vin's damn attractive, when he bothers to take off his clothes, but Vin's…Vin. It'd be like makin' advances on Buck or JD or, hell, even Josiah. 

He quirks an eyebrow up at Vin, questioning, though not at all sure what kind of question he's askin' 'cept maybe _Are you fucking kidding me?!_

'Course the fact that Vin's shit-eatin' grin just gets wider don't answer nothin' at all. 

"Nah," Vin says when the laughing dies down. "Kissin's fun and all, but I need a new set of spurs. Got my eye on a handsome pair, and I recollect that Ezra there promised me ten dollars for helpin' him out this mornin'."

"Could use some new lancets, myself," Nathan says, grinning widely and unrepentantly at both Chris and Ezra. "And ten dollars'll buy a whole lot of healin'."

"Charity," Josiah begins, and then Ezra cuts him off, since he sees where this is going. 

"Ten dollars. Each," Ezra says, flat and a bit unbelieving. "That's highway robbery."

"Ten dollars, each, from the both of you," Vin says, and Chris is reminded yet again what a bunch of low down, mercenary, blood-sucking scumbags he has for friends. 

He gives Vin his second-best glare. “I reckon I don’t owe you nothin’.”

Vin’s eyebrows climb to his hairline. “How you figger that?”

“Already paid you fifteen dollars this morning,” he replies, sitting back. “’Sides, that was all I have.”

Vin snorts. “That weren’t for _this_ , Chris,” he replies, and his voice takes on a hard edge that Chris has rarely heard. 

“Yeah,” Buck chimes in, grinning so wide he was like to split his face. “That was because you were stupid and needed ta pay for it.”

“You keep outta this,” Chris snarls and turns back to Vin. 

“Well,” Vin says, and that damn grin is back, like he’s takin’ lessons from Buck in how to be a pain in Chris’s ass. “Since you’re strapped, reckon we could work something out in kind.”

 _Reckon it ain’t gonna be you kissin’ Ezra_ , Chris thinks, and notches his glare up to his best.

It doesn’t phase any of them in the slightest, and Chris has to hold back a sigh. _Well, hell_.

Ezra is still muttering about larceny and _what friends_ and a dozen other things besides when Chris nudges him sharp with an elbow.

“So what do they gotta do for their money?” 

Ezra glowers at the rest of them, and Chris tries not to laugh. If they’re inured to _his_ most fearsome looks, they sure as hell ain’t gonna blink at Ezra’s. “I should make each and every one of you buy Creed whiskey or whores with that twenty dollars until he’s so blind he can’t find his own –” He cuts himself off with a deep breath. “But that’s neither here nor there,” he goes on, forcing a more cheerful tone.

“Well?” Nathan asks, and for all his bitchin’ about Ezra and his lack of honesty, he sure is powerful interested in _this_. “What do you want us to do?”

Suddenly Ezra gets that glint in his eyes that says he’s got a beauty of a secret, and this time Chris has to hold back a groan, because that’s never a good sign.

"According to Mother," Ezra says, "the younger Creed shall be arriving tomorrow evening with several other miners for a quick resupply. Given our rather tight time frame, I believe the best time to distract the man will be right after he has deposited his belongings in his room."

"Sounds reasonable," Buck says. 

"Indeed. And given that he has been in the mountains for the past eight months, I believe I can aptly predict what his next course of action will be." Ezra smirks at the others and Chris feels his stomach do unpleasant things as they smirk back. Even Nathan's grinnin' like a damn fool. This ain't gonna be good. 

"You gonna seduce him in the saloon?" JD says. "Ain't that gonna be a problem? I mean, I reckon even you ain't got enough money to pay everybody off."

"Son, I plan on being nowhere near the saloon while Creed is in it," Ezra replies coolly. "No, I desire you gentlemen to provide a truly adequate distraction while Mister Larabee and myself commit our act of liberation."

"Act of what now?" JD asks. 

"He means while they steal them deeds," Buck says. 

"Oh. Well why didn't you just say so, Ezra?"

"I believe I did," Ezra said.

"So what kinda distraction did you have in mind?" Vin asks. 

"Why, I believe Mister Wilmington would call it 'a right good dust up', if I'm not mistaken," Ezra says. 

Buck leans back, eyes twinklin’. “Always say there’s nothin’ like a good ol’ brawl to liven things up.”

“Precisely!” Ezra’s gold tooth winks as he grins, like his good humor’s restored. “You boys… _liven things up_ after Creed arrives, makin’ sure to block the door, I will pick the lock to Creed’s room, and, since it was Chris’s… ingenious idea, he will, of course, be the one to find the deeds.”

“Say what now?” This whole thing is news to him.

“Well, of course, I shall be standing lookout,” Ezra says, brushing a bit of dust off his sleeve. “It never does to be taken unawares while… searching for the appropriate property.”

Ezra isn’t much intimidated by Chris’s glare anymore either. 

Nathan is looking a bit glum, already thinking ahead to the cuts and bruises he’ll be treating. “Sure there ain’t no other way to do this?”

“No, Mister Jackson, I don’t believe there is.” Ezra looks a bit happier at that thought. “The only real distraction we can offer is a rousing good fight, one that draws everyone in the saloon in. Only one that is sufficiently rowdy will work… which means all you gentlemen will have a part to play.” His dimples wink as he grins.

Chris feels a bit better as the reality of the situation settles over the bastards he calls his friends. The boys are going to _earn_ that twenty dollars, that’s for damn sure.

'Course just 'cause it'll be some kind of work don't mean they ain't got that twinkle in their eyes, and it ain't long before Ezra's beginning to set up some kind of pool between Buck and Vin. Hell, Chris reckons Buck and Vin would've gotten into a fight for free, and pulled JD along in their wake. He only wishes he was as sanguine about this whole thing as the rest seem to be. He's been in jail before, sure, but always for small, stupid things – brawlin' and drinkin', mostly, and a couple acts of public indecency. But this thing Ezra's proposin' they do is damn serious. Real damn serious, and he ain't sure he'll be able to go through with it, not even for Ezra. 

That thought gnaws at his gut for the rest of the evening and through most of the next day, and even doin' some heavy pettin' with Ezra out behind the livery don't do a damn thing to make him feel better. 

"Chris, if you're not going to pay attention to what we're doing," Ezra begins, and Chris sighs and pulls his hands out of Ezra's pants. 

"You sure this is the only way?" he asks. 

Ezra stares back at him, and even though his eyes are as blank as a pair of green emeralds, he knows Ezra's contemplatin' whether or not he can pretend willful ignorance of what Chris means. 

"No," Ezra says at last, and Chris can't help but feel damn touched that Ezra ain't gonna try and lie too much to him. "There is, of course, always Mother's plan. But this is the one with best chance of success and the least probability of grievous bodily harm."

"Startin' a brawl's the best way to prevent grievous bodily harm?" Chris asks, laughing a bit as he does so. 

"Well. Grievous bodily harm to myself, at any rate," Ezra says, smiling. 

And since Ezra’s hand brushes over the back of his as he says it, well. He don’t need to have things spelled out any clearer than that.

It eases his nerves only a little, though, and Chris makes himself scarce long before evening draws on. Of course, Vin had nearly interrupted them behind the stable, and Vin’s idea of _in kind_ payment was one that almost got him that fist in the face anyway, because there was _no way_ he was… performin’ for an audience. ‘Specially not Vin.

After a while, Chris finds himself wondering just who the hell set him and Ezra up for this by tellin’ Maude about their… relations.

The money he didn’t have was on Vin, the sneaky bastard.

Things are gettin’ lively when he comes down from his room. He meets Ezra outside the jail and can’t help but wonder if he’s gonna be spending some serious time in there for the near future.

Ezra looks as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, like he’s been waitin’ for a while. All he says, though, is “Come on. He’s stayin’ at the Gem,” and Chris falls into step with him.

He frets the entire time they're in the Gem's lobby, jumpier than man sittin' on a rattlesnake. Ezra shoots him a dark look as he conducts his business with the hotel's clerk, and Chris grimaces back at him. Ain't his fault he got no temperament for this sort of thing. 

"Honestly," Ezra hisses at him as they head upstairs, "you're worse than Vin at acting natural."

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Chris hisses back, but it's too damn late to say anything more 'cause they're at a door – number seven, and Chris ain't sure if he should take that as a sign. He keeps an uneasy look out while Ezra magics the door open, reckoning that if he don't see it then he don't have to do nothin' 'bout it. 'Course, he's so resolutely not-seeing that when Ezra touches him on the shoulder he damn near jumps out of his skin. 

"I suggest looking in his bags first," Ezra says, and Chris nods his assent before slipping into the room. 

It's not one of the Gem's better rooms, facin' towards the alleyway as it does, but it ain't bad as rooms go. Bed's got a real feather mattress on it, not just a sack stuffed with horsehair or straw, and there's some kind of fancy lookin' china on the washstand. 'Course that just makes it a damn sight easier to pick out Creed's belongings, though he reckons he'd know they were a miner's just by sight, caked as they are in mud and grit. 

"Hurry up," Ezra tells him from the hall.

“I’m hurryin’,” he snaps as quietly as he can. _You’d think he’d give a body a chance to get used to bein’ on the other side of the law,_ he thinks a bit resentfully. Gingerly, he opens Creed’s bag, a little afraid that the fall of dirt will give it away that someone else has been in this room.

The bag doesn’t hold anything but some very dirty clothes. No papers, no envelopes, no nothin’, and Chris has to resist the urge to scrub his hands on his pants.

Quickly, he opens the other bag, breath comin’ faster and faster, because _damn_ , he doesn’t like doin’ this and even with Ezra watching the hall, it feels just like it did when as a kid he filched cookies from the jar before dinner and Ma found him out. Hair raised on the back of his neck, sweat dripping down his face…

And then his fingers touch something that rustles like paper, worn and folded, and he puffs out his cheeks with a sigh as he pulls it out. “Ezra.”

Ezra peers around the doorframe, sees him holding the paper, and Chris would swear he sags in relief. “You found it!” He doesn’t come in, though, and his eyes cut back to the hall quick.

Chris unfolds the paper and reads it over, just to make sure it’s what they’re lookin’ for. Then he reads it again, frowning.

Ezra’s splittin’ his attention between Chris and the hall, and he sounds impatient when he says, “What?”

Chris looks up. “It ain’t real – it’s a fake.”

"A…fake?" Ezra says at last, clearly outraged that someone should even attempt to try and con him while he's already on the con. 

"You heard me," Chris growls. "Ink ain't even dry yet."

He's about to say more when a sudden look of shock and fear – and, ok, he ain't gonna lie, somethin' damn near close to what Ezra looks like when he's really in the mood – crosses Ezra's face. 

"Quick," Ezra says. "Someone's coming."

"Ezra—" Chris begins, but Ezra's already closed the door, plunging Chris into a murky gloom. For a long moment, Chris is afraid to breathe, let alone move. And then he realizes that the only person who could possibly be coming to this room, situated as it is in the very back of the hotel, is its occupant, and that…well, that can only mean Very Bad Things. 

"Shit," he says.

He shoves the paper back into the bag, damn near trips over the other one when he turns around too quick. There’s only a sliver of a moon, and there ain’t much light at all comin’ in that window. _Lucky for me, though_ , he thinks, trying not to make any noise as he stumbles around the bed. _Might not be seen as I’m runnin’ away…_

Really, though, it’s like a weight has lifted off him – maybe they broke in, yeah, but they didn’t actually _steal_ anything, and that’s what’s been makin’ him antsy as hell. Just gotta avoid bein’ caught here, and after that, they’re home free.

 _Well_ , he reminds himself, _‘cept for Maude._ That _ain’t gonna be a good visit…_

Chris reaches the window, and now he can hear footsteps down the hall, kinda staggering and uneven, but comin’ closer and closer. He raises the sash.

Or tries to, because it’s stuck.

He stares at it in disbelief. _How can the fuckin’ thing_ not open? he thinks, barely remembering not to curse out loud at the damn thing.

Then he hears a thud in the hall, right next to the door. “Goddamnit,” someone grumbles, “where’s my damn key?”

A sudden access of panic helps Chris shove the sash up enough for him to wriggle through. There’s no landing or anything outside, but it still ain’t a long drop…

It’s only once he’s outside and dangling by his fingertips that he realizes he can’t close the window from here.

 _Well, fuck_ , he thinks as he stares down into the alleyway below him, both utterly bewildered as to how he ended up dangling from a window ledge, and yet fully cognizant of every single step that led him to this point – starting with the one he didn't take that would have led him straight out of the damn saloon the evening before last, when he'd first seen that Maude was in town. Right now, the only thing he can hope for is that Creed is too drunk or busted up to realize the window's open – or, even better, to think that he'd left it open himself. 

"Well, you boys certainly took your dear sweet time," Maude says from somewhere far below the vicinity of his ankles. 

" _Maude_?" Chris hisses, squinting into the shadows. 

"Why who else could it be? Honestly, Mister Larabee, you'll never make it in Kansas City if you insist on stating the obvious. Besides, you didn't think I'd leave this delicate affair in Ezra's hands, now did you?" Maude says as she steps out of the darkness and into a slightly less dark pool of moonlight. "Now just drop the deeds to me and we can wash our hands of this whole affair."

"Uh," Chris says, not entirely sure how to say that he ain't got the deeds in the first place, and that even if his hands weren't rather full with holding onto the window ledge right now, and he did, in fact, possess said deeds, he wouldn't have given them to Maude at all until he'd seen at least two notarized copies of a promise to not run off and leave Ezra – and by extension, Chris – holding the bag. And even then, he still probably wouldn't have handed them over. 

"You didn't give them to Ezra, did you?" Maude asks, in a tone bordering on outrage. 

"No, but—"

"Then what are you waiting for? Honestly, men these days."

Chris purses his lips and looks up into the window as a light goes on in the room. Given the choice between dealing with Maude, alone, and dealing with a surly, drunken Mountain Man, the Mountain Man is beginning to look more and more appealing. 

“Mister Larabee,” Maude says, and now he knows where Ezra learned that particular tone of exasperation; he’s heard it often enough, but now he’s damn sure he’ll never be turned on by it again. “We haven’t got all night, you know.”

“Mother?” Glancing down again, Chris sees Ezra stop short after rounding the corner of the hotel. He glances up at Chris, and it’s too damn dark for Chris to be sure, but he thinks Ezra’s lips twitch before he looks back at his mother. “What are you doin’ here? I thought you…”

“Goodness, Ezra, I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t be here. And a good thing I am. Look what a muddle you’ve made of this! I thought I told you to use Jean-Pierre’s ruse.”

“Mother please… Jean-Pierre’s _ruse_ , as you call it, would hardly have worked in this circumstance, and you know that quite well…”

Chris looks up toward Creed’s room. It’s kind of quiet in there – he can’t hear the man movin’ around or snorin’ or nothin’. And the lamp’s still lit, throwin’ a warm glow out the window. He knows that if Creed bothered to glance out, he would be caught.

Add to that, his arms are gettin’ tired right quick.

Maude and Ezra are still arguin’ in whispers beneath him. He rolls his eyes. _This is ridiculous,_ he thinks. Vaguely wishing that he’d never had the thought of stealing the deeds from Creed’s room – or maybe that he’d never _shared_ the thought of stealing them – he checks Ezra’s position and lets go of the ledge.

He lands square on Ezra, and they both tumble to the dusty street.

"Woof," Ezra says, and Chris would've felt damn guilty about landin' on him if it this whole damn mess hadn't been Ezra's fault in the first place. Still, probably be best if he gets off Ezra now, specially since he reckons Ezra ain't gonna be particularly inclined to see the whole squashing thing in the same light as Chris. 

He rolls off of Ezra and stands up, and spends the time it takes Ezra to regain his breath to busy himself with brushing himself off. He ain't about to try and talk 'bout _anythin'_ with Maude without Ezra there as at least a nominal back up. 

"Well, I'll give you some marks for your entrances, at least," Maude says. "Though your exits could definitely use some work."

"Ain't my fault," Chris begins, then shuts his mouth. He takes a deep breath, instead, and says, "The deeds in Creed's room were fakes."

" _Fakes_?" Maude says, lookin' shocked. "You mean I went through all of that for a document that ain't worth the paper it's printed on?"

"You went through—" Ezra says, still a little hoarse. "Mother, I believe that I was the one taking all the risks here."

"Well, actually," Chris says, then shuts up as both Ezra and Maude level identical glares at him. 

Ezra takes a breath, then another, and kinda grits out, “Yes, Chris, you are quite right… you… and I… were the ones taking all the risks.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but he ain’t surprised. Desperate as he was to get back in Ezra’s good graces the other day, he’s damn sure Ezra’s tryin’ to do the same, to salvage _something_ from this fiasco, and it might as well be him.

“Think maybe we could get out of the alley?” he asks, mindful of the open window above him, and the volume that both Ezra and Maude can reach if they’re really gonna mix it up.

Ezra offers Maude his arm and they finally leave the alley, and Chris is able to breathe freely again. _‘Least it’s over,_ he thinks.

But then he discovers he mighta had that thought a little too soon.

The street is brighter than the alley, and when he glances over, he sees a calculating look on Maude’s face. _Oh, no_ , he thinks.

His only consolation is that it’s not nearly the same as the calculating look that Ezra wears, and that probably means his libido is safe.

“Mother, what…”

Maude pulls away from Ezra and slaps him sharply on the arm. “Ezra, what _has_ happened to your brain? If those deeds that Mister Larabee found are fakes, what has happened to the _real_ ones?”

For a moment, Chris thinks Ezra's shock is because he, too, had believed the con to be over. But as soon as Ezra opens his mouth, Chris realizes just how wrong he'd been.

"Mother, you surely aren't suggesting Chris search Creed's room while it's occupied?"

"Of course not, darlin' boy. I imagine Creed is keeping those deeds on his person. Why, I know it's what I'd do were I in his position. Now all you need to do is march him on down to that little old jail of yours and turn out his pockets."

"Mother, we can't just arrest people for no reason."

"Why not? You seemed perfectly capable of doing so the last time I was in town," Maude says, sharp and acerbic. 

Chris stares at the two of them and shakes his head before throwing up his hands, both physically and metaphorically. 

"I," he announces, "am headin' to the saloon, where I plan to get completely drunk and have nothin' more to do with this whole thing. You're welcome to join me, if you wish."

And with that he stalks down Main Street, not at all ashamed by the spiteful little glee he gets out of the choked noise of disbelief both Standishes make behind him. 

He makes it to the doors before the argument bursts out, and is on his third whiskey at the bar – various tables and chairs having been turned into kindling around him – before Ezra slides up beside him.

“Looks like the brawl was a good one,” he says, nodding at Inez to bring another glass.

“Indeed it does,” Ezra says, glancing around. “I believe I’m goin’ to quite enjoy assessin’ the damages tomorrow.”

Chris snorts and tosses back his whiskey. “Shoulda known.”

And for all Ezra’s standin’ right next to him, so close their arms brush, he can’t help but feel the business with Creed between ‘em still, like he’s somehow disappointed Ezra by not bein’ able to carry out the whole plan as expected. It takes him another shot before he can ask, though. “We ain’t gonna try this again, are we?”

Ezra chokes a little on his own drink, and glances at Chris sidelong. “And if I said yes?” he asks in turn.

Chris sighs. _Shoulda expected that, too, I guess_ , he thinks, and stares morosely down into his refreshed drink. “Don’t see how it’ll work now – got no more diversion, Creed’s prob’ly passed out in his room…”

Then it dawns on him just what Ezra said, and he turns to look at Ezra in surprise.

Ezra smirks at him. “We’ll make an outlaw of you yet, Mister Larabee,” he says quietly, then his smile gentles with affection. “But perhaps not _quite_ yet.”

Chris breathes out, and some of the unhappy tension in his shoulders goes out with his breath. He turns on the stool so he's facin' Ezra a bit more squarely now, and leans against the smooth curve of the bar's edge. The air's clearer between 'em, now, but it ain't completely clean yet, and Chris knows that he ain't gonna rest easy until he has his say. 

"And Maude?" he asks, not lettin' himself pretend he'll know how Ezra'll answer. 

"Mother is understandably distressed at the loss of the gold mine, of course, but she agrees with me that now is not the best time to assay another attempt." 

Chris snorts and lets his Ezra-to-English dictionary translate those words into somethin' a bit more like plain speakin'. "So she ain't leavin' on the first stage outta here, huh."

"Indeed she is. She has an alternative recourse waiting for her in San Francisco."

"That right." Chris lets himself relax even further into the warmth of whiskey and Ezra's presence. "Any idea how long that'll take?"

"Months," Ezra drawls, grin widening as he takes a small step into Chris's space, and snags the glass from Chris's hand. "At least."

“Shame, that,” he says dryly, and just enjoys the brief swirl of Ezra’s fingers over the back of his hand. “You in her bad books right now?”

Ezra shrugs. “No more so than usual,” he replies, but the way he leans into Chris a little while pouring more whiskey into his stolen glass tells him more than the words do.

Ezra takes a sip from the glass, scowls briefly when Chris plucks it from his fingers, then Chris can hear his breath catch when Chris downs the rest of the whiskey, watching him over the rim. Ezra’s eyes are wide when he lowers the glass to the bar again.

And Ezra lookin’ at him like _that_ – like he really is better than money and gold mines and what-all else Ezra’s ever coveted in his life – makes him want to finish clearin’ the air between ‘em, just so they’re on the same page again. “Don’t reckon you’ll ever make me an outlaw. Didn’t much enjoy bein’ on the other side of the law.”

“No,” Ezra murmurs, “I don’t imagine you did.” He reaches out, his fingers a breath away from Chris’s where they’re curved around his glass, but he doesn’t touch. Then he glances up at Chris from the corner of his eye, and there’s a knowing smirk on his face, filthy and teasing and Chris feels his body respond in an instant. “But there’s one law I know you don’t mind breakin’,” Ezra says, his voice little more than a whisper.

“That right?” Chris manages, fingers clenching around the glass.

“Yes, it is.” Ezra turns to face him, still in his space, letting their knees brush, and Chris swallows. “Perhaps… you might be willin’ to let me find some way to improve the… debacle this evening has become?”

Chris smiles and leans forward, not quite letting his lips touch Ezra’s ear, but he both sees and feels the shudder that wracks him just from the closeness. “My room,” he breathes, “ten minutes, and if your ma is yellin’ for you…”

“I won’t hear a thing,” Ezra promises, and from the way the centers of his eyes have damn near swallowed the light green, Chris knows he means it.

“Good.” He stands up, his front almost against Ezra’s, and heads toward the door.

He’s barely made it four strides down the boardwalk when he hears footsteps behind him. He glances over his shoulder, then stops and waits for Ezra to catch up.

“Forgive me,” Ezra says, grinning. “Ten minutes… seems like it might be tempting fate.”

“That so?” They walk down the boardwalk together toward the boarding house.

Just as they reach the front door, they hear Maude’s voice. “Ezra darlin’!”

Ezra just pushes past Chris into the foyer of the boarding house. “You comin’, Mister Larabee?” he asks, and when he’s talkin’ in that silky tone of voice, Chris don’t hear nothin’ else.

“Will be soon enough.”


End file.
